Preserving Tradition: The Last Female Mahjong Tile Carver in Hong Kong

In the bustling district of Hung Hom, Hong Kong, Ho Sau-mei, aged 68, stands as the last female artisan dedicated to the intricate craft of hand-carving mahjong tiles. Having begun her journey at the tender age of 13, Ho's skills, honed over more than four decades, are now at risk of fading alongside the traditional craft itself. As mass production continues to overshadow handcrafted artistry, her story reflects a broader narrative about cultural preservation amid industrial evolution.
Mahjong, a game deeply embedded in Chinese culture, serves not just as a pastime but as a ritual that bonds families, especially during festive seasons like Lunar New Year. Traditionally made from materials such as wood, ivory, or bamboo, each mahjong tile is meticulously crafted. In the 1960s, Hong Kong boasted over 20 mahjong tile artisans, but today, Ho is one of the dwindling few, with the majority of tiles now mass-produced in mainland China.
Ho's shop, barely two meters wide, is filled with the remnants of a craft that once thrived. Behind her work stool, a shrine glows softly, providing a spiritual backdrop as she chisels delicate designs into Bakelite tiles. "My eyesight is fading, and my hands are getting sore," she admits, yet her passion for the craft keeps her returning to her tools each day.
According to the Hong Kong government, the craft of mahjong tile carving was designated as an "intangible cultural heritage" in 2014, highlighting its significance in the region's cultural landscape. Nonetheless, the reality remains grim as artisans like Ho face challenges from modern manufacturing processes.
"I can’t keep up with the orders," Ho states, emphasizing the unpredictability of her business. Unlike the streamlined operations of factories, Ho's process is entirely manual, from taking orders via phone to crafting each tile by hand. A full set of mahjong tiles, which includes 144 pieces, takes approximately 10 to 14 days to complete and costs around $245. In contrast, mass-produced sets can be purchased online for as little as 70 Renminbi ($10).
While Ho acknowledges the changing landscape of mahjong production, she remains steadfast in her commitment to her craft. "I have no interest in training others how to make tiles the traditional way," she declares, underscoring her preference to work at her own pace without the pressures of teaching. Ho's reluctance to pass on her skills reflects a broader concern about the loss of artisanal knowledge in an increasingly automated world.
Despite the challenges, Ho finds solace in her daily routine, carving tiles and engaging with customers who often stop to watch her work. Her shop has become a small cultural hub, attracting attention from students and journalists interested in preserving her story and the dying art of mahjong tile carving. As she contemplates her future, Ho expresses both pride and uncertainty: "I don’t know how much longer I can do this. But as long as I can still hold the tools, I can still keep doing it."
As Hong Kong continues its transformation from a manufacturing powerhouse to a financial center, the fate of traditional crafts like mahjong tile carving hangs in the balance. Ho Sau-mei embodies the spirit of a bygone era, a reminder of the intricate artistry that once defined the region. Her determination serves as a poignant reflection on the importance of preserving cultural heritage amid a rapidly changing world.
Advertisement
Tags
Advertisement